The Race To Salvation
by AngeliqueBouchard1972
Summary: AU, but relating to Wicked Girls by Stephanie Hemphill.


The Race to Salvation

"Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it: it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be required to bear."

― Charlotte Brontë, _Jane Eyre_

Fleeting steps raced down the staircase, breaking the hushed chatters in the room. As the Clergymen and Pastor Johnson enter the room, my mother stands quietly. Her expression is stern, her lips pressed into a tight line. Dried tears streak her pale face. My sister, Margaret, has recently fallen ill. But it could become evident that she's been afflicted. I grasp my step brother tighter in my arms, his chubby fingers tightly grasped around my dark hair. If only I could be so happy as he is, being so unaware of the world.

Even though no one has ever said so, Margaret was always father's favorite child. After he died, my mother always treated her with a certain possiveness. Not that she forgot the rest of us, just cared for her with the same amount of passion she cared for my father. Only William and I seemed to notice this though. My younger brother William is twelve, two years younger than me. William took a liking to Jonathan more than Margaret or me. Jonathan is my stepfather, and my uncle.

After father died four years ago, Jonathan traveled here from England. He had wrote in his will only days before he died that John would marry mother if he was unmarried at the time of his own death. John was first mate on one of the King's boats since he was fifteen. He was rough around the edges, but good at heart. After years as a sailor, his work had left him stubborn and orderly; the sound of waves pounding in his ears. At first my mother was in such a shock she'd paid him no heed. She went along with the marriage of course, as she was in no position to counter father's decision.

It seemed as if the life had left her eyes in the months after father's death. Like something changed within her. But Jonathan had managed to bring it back. I greatly admired him for that. He was very reluctant to come to Salem. His letters addressed that clearly. But he came and in time, learned to love Salem as the rest of us do. Well, most of us that is. Not as much lately as normal.

I also have two half brothers: Jackson and Sam. Jack is three, but Sam is only a couple of months old. "Cute as button, that child." My mother's sister would often say. She lives next to us, but tends to spend more time at our house than her own. Her name is Mary and my mother's is Anne. Mary is a loving woman, definitely more affectionate than my mother. I have four aunts and five uncles all together, but six of them still live in England. I haven't met most of them. My father's sister also moved here after his death, and moved her family to Salem Town with us. Her name is Florence, and it reflects her perfectly. Anyone in their right mind would agree that Florence is beautiful, like my father was handsome. But Florence is much younger than my father. Only a few years older than Margaret in fact. Her and Margaret became very close after father's death, which is the reason for her standing next to me; her hand covering her mouth. Florence and Margaret actually have fairly similar personalities. They're bright and always know what to say. They're not afraid to speak up.

I turn my shoulder to look at her. She glances down to Sam, fidgeting in my arms and rubs my shoulder. She smiles in attempt to reassure me, but I feel nothing of the sort. We are all very scared for Margaret. Especially Florence.

Pastor Johnson motions for us to sit down. I do and tuck a strand of my long hair behind an ear, cautiously shifting my brother in my arms. We all fear that she was afflicted by witchcraft, though no one dares to say it aloud. I do especially, but I have no means to share it. It would do her no good. Margaret told me once that she had practiced folk magic, but I never really took to it. I had never done it before, so I had no idea what she meant by it. Witchcraft is rarely brought up in conversation among my family. We generally try to avoid it. Though there would be no point in that now.

I knew who would talk her into it though, that much I was certain. It was that Ann Putnam again. That girl was trouble. Always looking for the next juicy piece of gossip, the next exotic pastime. I was sick of her foolishness. It would end her in bad places, I knew.

Ann is the daughter of Thomas and Ann Putnam. She has eleven siblings, most of which irritate me beyond words. The Putnam family is not my favorite, but I keep myself from showing any signs of it. Just as I attempt to restrain my hatred for them. This is quite a bit harder. Ann is only twelve, but always has been her father's favorite daughter, like my sister Margaret. She thinks herself special because he favors her: doting on her hand and foot like a lapdog. Her mother isn't the same though, that's for sure. Mrs. Putnam is incredibly dull. She's harsh and seemingly emotionless. I never would have married her if I was Thomas. But that isn't my place. My place is to remain quiet and look after my siblings. I am only a girl.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The magistrates stayed until dinner. Sam starting crying not even half an hour after Pastor Johnson began speaking. Near the same time mother did. John came back from the docks earlier than usual. When I put the boys to bed, I dared not enter our room. At least it used to be. Now I have to sleep with the Jackson. That isn't exactly something I'm looking forward to.

I admit I'm scared to see her. I'm very nervous for tomorrow. Our minister said he'll be performing a prayer service for her tomorrow. I was asked to attend. Which in reality means I will attend or else. It's not that I don't want to be there, I would do anything to help her. She means so much to me, and I'd do anything for her. It's just that... well, I'm afraid. I know what people said happened to Mary Bronte. I never want to experience something like that, let alone be afflicted.

Pastor Johnson stares at me briefly. I avoid his gaze and feel the urge to run from the room. My hand shakes nervously as I reach to hold his. His hand is rough but comforting next to mine and I exhale. The four of us are gathered around Margaret. My mother's breathy whispers to Jonathan do anything but help me calm down.

My gaze catches Margaret's. She seems to be more frightened than I am. She sniffles and her eyes dart elsewhere in the room. Today is particularly cold and I shiver at the gust of air that comes over me. Margaret is shivering as well and turns over, her leg twitching as she does so.

I am scared that she won't be the same way she was. I'm scared our relationship won't be. I've heard so many things about the afflictions, you see. We all have. I never really... thought it would happen to my family though. Nor did anyone else. It's almost as if some things, especially horrible things; seem distant and far off. As if it could happen to anyone but you. That's what I'm feeling right now I suppose. The shock of it all. I know very well what could happen to Margaret if she is afflicted, and none of it is good. I am scared of evil but I'm not sure if it's right or not.

Right now we're... not actually sure if she is or not. Even Pastor Johnson doesn't have a definite idea of what she has. After the doctors concluded her case wasn't just of the body, but of the mind, we sent for the Magistrates. We had to. It's as if she's on the verge of being afflicted. She's beginning to show symptoms similar to others that have been afflicted. I grasp Pastor Johnson's hand more firmly and lower my head. This needs to work. I have to concentrate so I can save my sister.

Pastor Johnson's words ring in my ears and I focus my concentration on them. His voice is rich and dripping with sincerity. It's refreshing. He does seem very calm as he speaks. His hand is firm, his words soft and head bowed in respect. If only everyone could be as good hearted as he.

I can't possibly grasp who would do something so ghastly to my loving sister. I don't really see a reason why anyone would hate her. Margaret is a pleasant girl. But she's already eighteen now, so I should probably address her as a young lady. She has dark curled locks like mine, her skin fair and her eyes gleaming. She's quite thin, a little too thin according to aunt Mary. Says she no man wants a frail beauty.

I just hope she's not too delicate to get through this.


End file.
